


Lift

by Glowstickia



Category: Paranatural (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, alchemy au, pnat secret santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 10:10:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13121571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glowstickia/pseuds/Glowstickia
Summary: Max finds the journal of a master alchemist and uses the notes inside to help him get his mother back.





	Lift

**Author's Note:**

> I did the paranatural secret santa gift exchange again this year and this present for insultme-notmyfandoms on tumblr. Enjoy! :D

Nicholas Flamel created the Philosopher's Stone, the elixir of life. The stone can transmutate mercury into gold and promise of immortality. This marvel of alchemy, the Magnum Opus, has not been recovered or replicated. Many have tried. Only a handful throughout history were able to formulate the structure of the stone. Forgeries made of glass and ruby have passed hands through black markets and con men swiping the replicas out from dead men's corpses.

The stone, linked with crimson, the color blood and the birthing flames of a phoenix never...existed. Yet, myths and legends swirl around it like a child's bedtime story or an alchemist's brewing potion. These legends brought hope to budding alchemists as they sought wonder digging through old symbols and notes of their masters. Perhaps, there is a way to extend life…

Max stole a glance around him as he adjusted his satchel. He pulled his cap down to shade his eyes as he slipped the leather bound book into his bag. His eyes stayed to the cobbled road as he weaved his way through the crowded, losing the sound of alarm from the bookseller yelling out from his stand.

He clung to his bag as he duck and passed around people, his eyes darting to shops on the street corners as he walked. Apothecary. Bookkeep. Brewery. Another bookseller. Fortune Reader. Herbalist.  His heart raced as he passed the lavender and glass jars of dried herbs being carried out by a customer dressed in feathers and a wide brim hat. He didn't slow until he found himself kicking an overturned brick and walking down a slanted street. The cast iron lanterns hanging from curled blackened metal, swung gently in the breeze. None were lit as the sun still shone high in the sky.

He breathed easy as the crowd here thinned significantly. His hand dug into his satchel again, brushing against cold glass and well-worn leather. He sighed through his nose and stared ahead, walking with confidence as he passed another block. The peeling green sign greeted him as it swung lazily in the breeze. _The Corner Store_ . A smile tugged at his lips as he strolled in, pushing the front entrance open. A brass bell chimed loudly as he entered.  
  
"Dad!" Max called, walking passed isles of groceries and everyday household products, "I'm home!"  
  
Dad Puckett clicked buttons on the register, his glasses, thick and slightly fogged, glinted from an unknown source of light. "Son." He said, grinning as he pulled the lever of the cash register. It chimed. "That'll be four and three quarters."

The customer before him fumbled with his coins. His bushy mustache rocked on his face as he dug into the small, faded, snap bag in his hand. "Er, right."

Max quickly slipped behind the counter, attempting to avoid the gaze of shining glasses from his teacher. The man knew stars and words of the well read dead, someone one should never meet in a dark alleyway on a Tuesday night. His noodle wrath struck fear into all.

Max hadn't realized he was holding his breath until his little sister, Zoey startled him at the top of the stairs. She gave him a lopsided grin as one of her baby teeth poked past her lips. "Ha! Bit jumpy today." She said before bounding down the stairs.  
  
Max watched her leave before making a break to his room and swinging the door shut. He slid down as relief washed over him. He made it. He kicked off his shoes and stood, gently placing his bag on his bed before flopping face first into his sheets. Safe. He was safe.

When the sun sank and he made his appearance at the dinner table Max slunk back into his room. He eyed the bag, still resting on his bed and took a deep breath through his nose. He climbed onto his bed and dragged the leather bound book out from his bag. With much care, he slid his bag and the fragile contents under his bed. The glass inside clinked against each other as he gently kicked it the rest of the way underneath.

He unbound the journal from its thin leather strap and flipped it open. The parchment was yellowed, old and ink stained. Spills of coffee and potions warped the edges, wrinkling them and discoloring the writing. Symbols jumped out at him as he flipped through notes and diagrams. He licked his lips as his eyes scanned the pages. Maybe it wasn't here. Maybe it...  
  
He huffed, closed the journal, and gave himself a deep breath. He needed to clear his head he needed…

He flung backwards, his head smacking the pillow as he groaned into his hands. He needed Isabel. She was good at this sort of stuff, but... He muffled his frustration with his hands. She was the last person he wanted to get wrapped into this...this... His eyes glared at the ceiling as he huffed again. No. This was something he needed to do on his own. The less people wrapped up in this, the better.  
  
He sat up in bed. His feet dangled off the side as he stared at the floorboards. His eyes wandered over to the small wooden bookshelf. Books about daring knights clashing against monsters. Books about wizards creating the perfect remedy after learning the universe's secrets from the long journey they endured. Books he knew by heart. Books that called to him. [Books that reminded him of _**her**_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ompevuR1644).  
  
His feet touched the floor. It groaned under his weight as he took a few strides towards the bookshelf. He sat on his knees and pulled out ' _The Stone of the Phoenix_ '. Tears threatened his eyes as he flipped through the thin chapter book. Colorful images graced his eyes until he stopped on one of the dogeared pages.  
  
On the page was the image of a phoenix, fire flaring around it like a sun.  
  
_The phoenix, wrapped in a cloak of flame and warmth brought light as it flew across the land. Flowers bloomed and ice thawed. People no longer lived in fear of the darkness._  
  
His fingers shook as he turned to the next dogeared page deeper into the book. His breath caught in his throat, seeing a blackened figure laying on the bottom of the page. They were holding a lily.  
  
_The phoenix flew to the weeping boy and dropped a plain river stone in his hand. The boy looked up and asked. "What good will this do?" Tears fell down his face as he clutched the stone tight in his hands._  
  
_The phoenix bowed. Golden tears dropped from its eyes and plopped onto the stone. As the tears sank into the stone, it began to change color. To the shade of crimson._

 _"With this," the phoenix said, it's beak remained un-moving, "you can bring_ **_her_ ** _back.”_

Max's hands shook as he turned the next page. Tears flooded his eyes, clouding his vision as he stared at the image. The lily was on the side as the figure sat up, beaming at him. Her bright red hair was up in a messy bun, threatening to spill out. Her dark eyes stared into his.  
  
**_"Max."_ ** _Her voice whispered, hoarse from not being used in so long. Too long._  
  
"Mom," the boy cried out, dropping the red stone to the side as he jumped into her open arms.

Paper crinkled in his hands and the book dropped to the floor. He sniffed, wiped his nose with the back of his hand and used his arm to clear the tears threatening to drop. His eyes steadied on the leather bound journal resting on his bed.  
  
_There is more than one way to raise a phoenix._

Max ducked under his bed, dragged out his satchel, and the small chest covered in dust beside it. A brass lock clinked against the wood as he pulled it out. He gently placed the chest inside his satchel. Glass clinked as he moved the strap to his shoulder. His hand reached for the leather bound book as a second thought. He held it tight as he made his way towards his door. A couple of encouraging words under his breath and a swallow of spit, he snuck out of his room, and descended down the stairs to the store below.

He winced at every creak the floorboards below him gave. Each breath he took hissed in his ears as his heartbeat drummed loudly in his chest. This was stupid, entirely stupid, so stupid. Isabel's voice, one of reason and guilt yelled at him from the deep corners of his mind. But he kept pushing as he danced around the counter, slipped through the shelves of produce, unable to read the ads even with the moonlight barely shining through, and stood, chest puffed in front of the Employee Only sign hanging by a single nail on the back room door.

Courage. Stupidity. Both? He wasn't sure what helped him to this point, but his hand grasped firmly around the door handle. The metal was cold to the touch sending chills and goosebumps up his arm. He closed his eyes. No turning back now. Isabel's voice in his head shouted in disagreement, but stupidity opened the door as courage moved his legs into the darkness.

His fingers graced the wooden shelves, grasping, clawing at the dark until his fingers thrummed against something cold. He pulled it close, dug through his satchel until his fingers found a small box. He held the box of matches in one hand and lantern in the other. Max stood still in the darkness, waiting for his eyes to make out shapes. His heartbeat drummed in his head. A large, cube mass cloaked in darkness is what he clung to first, placing the lantern on top before fingers fumbled with the matches.

Two matches, a singed finger, and a few cuss words later... The lantern flickered to life, casting shadows onto the walls around him. It glowed warm, and bright. Max placed his satchel near the door, and drummed his fingers on the wooden crate. How much noise was he willing to make in the middle of the night with his family sleeping soundly above him? He chewed his lip, breaking skin, metal cleansing his palette. It'd be, enough.  
  
He moved the lantern to the side and with a heave, some grunting, and lots of pleading under his breath mix with more cuss words, the crate was to the side of the room. With sleeves rolled, Max dug into his satchel again. Pulling out small glass jars. Herbs. Metal shavings.  He pulled out the chest and flicked the lock with his fingers. Later. He dug deeper into his satchel until his fingers grasped at two thin, jagged cylinders. He frowned as he pulled it out.  White dust coated his fingers as he rolled the two broken halves of chalk in his hand.

Grasping the leather bound book once again, he flipped through the pages until an image caught his eye. His gaze shifted over the pages as he tilted it towards the lantern. Following the instructions he drew four triangles on the ground, each pointing out like a compass. On two of the triangles, he added a line parallel to the bottom line. Air. Earth. He moved to the center and drew a circle as best as he could and in its center he added a dot. Sun. Gold. He frowned a the notes and then looked down at the diagram on the ground.  
  
_"Symbols are symbols for a reason."_ Isabel's voice rang out in his head again. _"Fire and water are no longer that. Fire has to point up with air and water down with earth."_ With the instructions in hand and Isabel's voice in his head _now_ helping him, Max continued to draw symbols along the floor, correcting the mistakes made by the book's owner by Isabel's word.

He leaned back, chalk dust covered his arms and forehead. The white dust clung to him, refusing to let go as he brushed his hand lightly over it. The chalk marked him, just as he marked the ground. He stood and stretched his back. The hard part was done, but time was moving quickly. Too quickly. He turned to his satchel and the contents he pulled out before.

He rattled the glass jars, checking the contents with the dying light of his lantern. Quartz. Water. Dirt. Yep. Check. Got it. His eyes wandered over to the small chest, still locked. He frowned as he picked it up. It didn't need to be touching the chalk did it? He flipped through the journal again, scanning the pages quickly. His vision blurred. Doubled. He held his eyes closed and blinked. Just needed, a little longer. He suppressed the yawn building behind his jaw.

No.

Not yet.

The padlock felt cold in his hands as he shook it a little. He looked towards the center of the circle, then back to the chest. It was in the center before he gave the idea a second thought. With a roll of his shoulders and a yawn escaping on his breath he rubbed his hands together. Chalk dust floated in the air as he stood, hands pressed together. He closed his eyes.  
  
And breathed.

Max dug down deep within. He dug further and deeper until he came upon a locked box. The box had chains wrapped around it, thick with rust slowly decaying the iron. Max stood in front of the box, staring at it. In his hands, he held nothing. Until he closed his fist.  
  
Cold metal burned his hand, cutting into his palm, but he breathed and continued on. He pressed his hand against the box, felt the wood bite his hand as splinters pierced his skin.  
  
_Inhale._  
  
_Exhale._  
  
The key, so cold and so heavy dragged his hand to the ground. His hand ran along the chain until he found the lock. He shoved the key in, and turned it. The chain rolled off, clanging the ground as he stood.  
  
_Inhale._  
  
His fingertips pushed between the lid and the box.  
  
_Exhale._  
  
It gave.

The room suddenly felt...colder.

Warmth from his body was dragged away as goosebumps ran along his arms. Eyes, large and sunken watched him. He could feel the weight of their stare through his eyelids.  
  
He blinked.

 

Max felt his heart sink as color drained from his face. The wide, sunken eyes before him blinked. _A geist. He created a_ **_geist_**.

 

* * *

 

**Bonus:**

Isabel looked between Max and the floating striped pajama clad boy beside him. "You did **_what_ **."

Max rubbed the back of his neck as he avoided her gaze. "His name is PJ."  
  
PJ waved and grinned at her. "Hello!"  
  
She squished her cheeks and dragged her hands down. "You...brought me _another_ idiot boy to deal with?" She leaned forward, eyes glaring into his soul, "I've already got three other boys to deal with other than you Maxwell. I don't need a _fifth_."

**Author's Note:**

> The song of the fic is Lift by Poets of the Fall.


End file.
